


100 Million Quid

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bottom Jim Moriarty, Dark Sherlock, M/M, Protective Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 14:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: A newly married couple shift into a huge mansion one of them just inherited. But the house has a dark past, as does the mysterious neighbor and the creepy gardener they employ





	100 Million Quid

“I want to open my eyes,” Jim grumbled as he was led out of the car, “I hate such surprises.”

“This one you will love,” Greg Lestrade said, holding his hands over his new husband’s eyes. 

Jim whined but played along as he heard a gate open and he was led down what appeared to be a garden path. He could smell the earth, the bark of trees, fresh leaves, green grass, wild blossoms and the slight musk of weeds. He could hear birds chirp and leaves shake in the breeze as the walk got longer and longer, Greg guiding him to take turns and change directions, not once letting go of the handhold he had over half of Jim’s face and his eyes. It took them almost seven minutes to reach their destination and suddenly Jim realized he was in the shade. The sunlight was no longer touching his skin. 

“Tadaaaaa!” 

Hands were removed from his face and eyes and he blinked hard, the brightness around him hitting him full force. He looked around, stunned. 

Gosh, this was some surprise!

He was standing under the portico of a mansion, gardens stretching around for as far as he could see. The sprawling gardens were so large that the ambient noises from the street had faded down to a trickle. It was like being in the countryside, in some royal country estate, only it happened to be in the middle of London. Jim’s eyes fell on the marble fountain beyond the portico, the lawns, the shady trees, the driveway and the cobbled walkway, he could see a koi pond in the distance and a walkway bridge over it. 

Then there was this house. This incredibly large and residence. From the outside he was sure it could rival one of the smaller palaces owned by the queen. “This is….” He murmured, “This is incredible.” 

“You haven’t seen half of it baby,” Greg was beaming, clearly happy to see his newlywed spouse so enamoured by this place, “Twenty bedrooms and bathroom, three cloakrooms, two informal sitting areas, one formal sitting area, ballroom, formal dining room, conservatory, cellar, attic, a room for art exhibits, study, library, servant quarters, two kitchens and a galley, fifteen balconies, a terrace garden, swimming pool, tennis court, garden house, two gazebos, a gym, name it and you have it.” 

Jim was breathing heavily, “This belongs to you?” 

“Technically my uncle. When he passed on he named me the heir. So yeah, now it belongs to us, both of us.” 

“Us!!!” 

“Yes love, whatever belongs to me also belongs to you.” 

Jim climbed the ten steps to the porch and touched one of the marble statues, as if in awe. Greg stood behind him and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, nuzzling behind his ears. “The place has run into some decay and dirt though. My uncle was sick and reclusive in his last years and didn’t care about the upkeep of the place.” 

“I can knock it back to shape in a month,” Jim said as he entered the house, looking around him in awe, “Oh my God, this place is filled with expensive artefacts and paintings. Even the furniture, each and every item is worth thousands of pounds if we sell them. Not that I want to sell anything here. These are all part of this property, part of your heritage, they should be nurtured and restored, not sold. Um…G, what’s the market value of this place?” 

Greg pretended to think hard and winked at the pretty brunette who was staring at the Belgian glass chandelier in utter amazement. “I’d say the property itself should be worth around seventy million quid and the paintings, the furniture, the rare items inside, the jewellery and the cash that’s kept in the safe, about a hundred million quid. My uncle had married a noblewoman with a big inheritance of her own and he also ran a hugely successful business overseas when he was younger. Made lots of cash and collected lots of precious stuff, as you can see around yourself. We always knew uncle Bernard was rich but we never knew how rich.” 

“He didn’t have kids huh?” 

“No. Never liked them. Never liked me when I was a kid myself.” 

“How could someone not like you as a kid?” Jim put his arms around his husband, “You looked real cute and cuddly.” 

“Well I am glad I am not cute and cuddly anymore, am I?” Greg’s eyes were shining with mischief. 

“Hmmm…..owhhh,” Jim yelped as he was lifted in Greg’s arms, bride style, “I’d say I need to be given a full tour of the ‘non-cute-cuddly’ body of yours.” 

“I say,” Greg raced up the stairwell with his prize in his arms, “The master bedroom has a king size four poster bed. How about I give you a full tour on that one? What say? Christen it properly? Then we must christen all the rooms of our grand new property, like the study which has a strong two-hundred-year-old desk, the kitchen which has a modern island, equipment modular structure and then maybe the pool, which needs to be cleaned out and filled up first.”

“You sound like a horny bastard from western films.” 

“Correction dear husband. I am a pilot with British Airways!” 

“Hmmm and I am a flight steward with no job at present.” 

“Don’t say that,” Greg lowered him on the mattress and kissed him on his luscious lips, “You are not out of a job. You have a full time job and a part time job. Your full time job is to beat this place back into shape and your part time job is to be in my arms and let me love you whenever I am in town.” 

“Sounds like busy times to me,” Jim grinned broadly. 

***

Greg looked at his sleeping husband, flushed and dishevelled in afterglow, hairs askew and skin damp from the sweat of their lovemaking. Jim was utterly gorgeous and sexy, much more than he gave himself credit for, and Greg was proud to be the man to own him completely. Even though everyone knew Jim’s sexual orientation, both men and women still coveted him. He had seen many jealous eyes and crestfallen faces on their wedding day as their colleagues and friends attended the event at church and later the drinks and dinner party. He had felt like the king of the world that day, holding the hand of the man whom so many wanted to be with, his ring shining on Jim’s fourth digit. 

Good fortunes had shone on him of late and he had no complaints at all. Life was good. It would get even better, he was sure of that!

The sound of the doorbell made him quickly get out of bed and reach for his clothes. Their clothes were mostly in the home they shared, a decent three-bedroom place in east London which was nice enough for a young couple but not even close to this posh address. Greg knew he had landed a bounty others only dreamt of and nowadays when he woke up in the morning he had to pinch himself to believe this was real. Jim in his bed, in his arms, and this imposing and sprawling property which now belonged to him, he had to be the luckiest guy in this world. 

The visitor was getting impatient now so he ran down the stairs, yelling ‘I’m coming, hold on man’ while still buttoning up his shirt. 

He opened the door and stared into the blue-green eyes of a tall, statuesque man wearing a long coat, boots, with a scarf draped around his neck. The stranger was handsome in an unconventional way, with angular features and sharp cheekbones, pale skin that didn’t seem to have seen the sun for months and bow shaped lips one would see on runway models. Except that this was not enhanced with layers of cosmetic touches. 

“Yes?” 

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. I am your next door neighbour.” 

“Oh, I see. Greg Lestrade.” 

“Are you the new owner? Frank Lestrade’s nephew?” 

“You knew about my uncle?” 

“Yes, pretty well in fact. He told me you were going to inherit this place. Gregory Steven Lestrade if I am not mistaken?” 

“The same,” Greg was a gregarious and amicable man and felt a bit bad that he hadn’t invited his neighbour in, “Please do come inside.” 

Sherlock muttered an almost inaudible ‘thanks’ and took off his coat, hanging it inside the shallow coat closet next to the doorway. He stepped in and headed straight for the formal sitting room which opened out through a door to the right of the foyer. He was clearly used to this house and had been here before, Greg noted, spotting the easy manner with which the lanky young man navigated the turns and stretches. He followed him inside that room and said, “Um….if it’s okay with you Mr. Holmes, we could sit in the hall outside. This room is a bit dusty and since we just moved in we haven’t had the time to clean things up. Let’s have a cup of coffee as we talk?” 

“It’s your house,” Sherlock said, “Anywhere you suggest is fine. And yes, coffee would be wonderful.” 

They came back to the foyer and stepped down the short stairwell that led to the hall. They took their places in opposite Edwardian chairs, Sherlock crossing one long leg over the other while Greg simply stretched out his. 

“Frank was a misunderstood man,” Sherlock began, “Mind if I smoke?” 

“Not at all,” Greg responded. 

Lighting a cigarette, Sherlock continued, “He wasn’t the most talkative man, or the friendliest, but if he got comfortable with someone he could debate on topics for hours with them. He had a few friends but those few were very good friends, real friends. Unfortunately, he outlasted all of them except for me.” He blew out three rings and added, “I still miss him a lot. He was a powerhouse of knowledge.” 

“You are the only young friend he had,” Greg laughed, “Even though I was his nephew and his chosen heir, I hadn’t talked to him in years.” 

“It’s sad how he lost his sanity in the final months,” Sherlock sighed, “He would see intruders and enemies everywhere. As I am a police officer, I had to often come over at odd hours on his summons. Even though my presence assured him of his safety, that feeling didn’t last too long. During some rare moments of stability and lucidity, he told me a streak of mental imbalance runs in the family.” 

He blinked suddenly, “Sorry Mr. Lestrade.” 

“Call me Greg please and no offense taken. I am surprised he said that really, because there are only two identified cases of insanity in our family and none of them were dangerous or violent…..hey Jim!” 

Jim stood at the top of the stairwell, just woken and yawning, shirtless and clad only in jeans. Greg stole a look at Sherlock and was happy to note that their neighbour seemed to have no interest in his husband, even in this state of undress. If anything, Sherlock looked away with a fierce determination and didn’t express the slightest bit of curiosity in the sudden appearance of his spouse. 

“Oh…we have a visitor….be right back,” Jim scooted inside the master bedroom, much to Greg’s relief. 

“Anyways, the reason why I came here,” Sherlock continued the conversation, “As I said, I am a cop and in the past three months when this place was lying unused, we caught some suspicious activities in the premises. Though nobody broke into the house, there were couples who fornicated in the gardens, a tramp was found stoned and nearly dead inside one of the gazebos and a few thieves had made their home inside the green house you have. I strongly suggest you have burglar alarms, a proper security system and anti-intruder measures implemented. It’s a huge property so maybe a couple of guard dogs would be of great help too.” 

“My husband Jim is allergic to dogs,” Greg explained, “The rest I shall definitely look into.” 

“I could suggest someone who’d do this quickly and efficiently for you. Here, note down this fellow’s name and number.” 

Greg was noting down the numbers when Jim came downstairs, looking unhappily at Sherlock. Clearly, he didn’t want visitors around the house, especially ones they didn’t know at all. Jim had never been a social butterfly. 

“Hey Jim, meet Sherlock Holmes our neighbour and a friend of uncle Frank. Sherlock, meet James Moriarty Lestrade, my husband and the light of my life.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Sherlock eyed Jim suspiciously, which Jim noticed but Greg clearly overlooked. 

“Likewise,” Jim said nonchalantly, “I’ll make some coffee for us.” 

“I think I’d better be going,” Sherlock got up. 

“I’ll make two mugs then,” Jim didn’t make any attempts to stop him and walked into the kitchen with his usual swagger. 

A trifle embarrassed by his husband’s lack of social graces, Greg tried to make up for it by being extra friendly with Sherlock. “Thanks for the phone number and name. I think we do need those security systems installed right away. I am a pilot and away for two weeks of the month and the last thing I need is my husband’s safety compromised by goons.”

“You actually plan to stay here? As in live here?” 

“Yes I do, we both do.” 

Sherlock looked a bit taken aback, “I’d say I was expecting something else. A young couple in their early to mid-thirties, I’d think you’d want to sell this place and live like kings and not stay here and work your legs off every day. This place does need a lot of upkeep.” 

“Yeah and first of all this place needs a thorough clean-up,” Greg concurred as he stood up as well, walking Sherlock to the door, “The garden itself is a huge amount of work and then there is so much to dust, mop, sweep and clean inside. Fortunately the structure needs no basic repair, only a little plaster and paint and polish here and there. I suppose in his final years my uncle didn’t look after this place much, nor did he have servants. If they were here, I’d be happy enough to retain them and let them help my Jimmy. Even though he’s taken a break from work to look after this place, this is hardly a single man’s job.” 

“I can send someone for you to consider,” Sherlock offered generously, “He’s a former addict but has completed rehab and works as police informer. Needs a place to sleep in and a meagre salary. Very good with the garden. He can knock the outdoor areas back to shape in no time, from your pool to your pond, to you lawns, tennis court and even the green house. I can assure you he won’t even dream of lifting one thing that isn’t his.” 

“A cop’s guarantee,” Greg was happy, “How can I refuse?” 

***

“Charles Augustus Magnussen,” the man said. 

He looked weird and seemed a bit creepy too. About fifty-five years of age, he was strong as an ox, tall, had beady eyes and a French beard, big nicked hands and huge feet and wore granny glasses. Jim looked away and frowned. 

Greg on the other hand saw that the man looked just about right for the work he had in mind. Strong, tall, not too young and therefore definitely not someone with growing needs, hands that suggested he didn’t mind them getting bloody if needed while doing some rough jobs. “Look Charles, we might be the owners of this huge property but we don’t have a ton of money,” he explained in a stern and firm voice, “So I shall pay you the normal rates of a gardener. Don’t try to overcharge me just because of the area we live in okay? In addition I can give you the outhouse to live in but you must never come into the house, never, I hope you understand that part.” 

“Why would I need to come into the house?” 

“So you don’t come inside. Got that?” 

“I won’t.” 

“Good. You can start today if you want. As per my conversation with Sherlock, I’ll pay you half a month’s wages in advance.” 

Maroon eyes turned on the couple and Magnussen left after a brief nod and a question as to where the tools shed was. The moment he had left Jim turned to Greg with a pleading look in his eyes, “Not him. Anyone but him. He is such a creep, I don’t like him one bit.”

“Jim it’s a matter of a month or forty-five days at the most,” Greg shut the door and Jim seemed to relax a little when their gardener was out of sight, “Once our garden is nice, clean and trimmed we shall pay a teenager to do the mowing and watering three days a week. But right now we need someone like him, strong as a bull and knowledgeable about gardens and tennis courts maintenance. He is charging peanuts as compared to what a couple of money from an agency would charge. I know we have a lot of money now but we agreed to be frugal and not flashy. Why should we splurge on something as basic as gardening and swimming pool cleaning? As for the man’s credentials, I have seen he’s been clean for over a year and Sherlock has personally given a guarantee for his behaviour and honesty. He seems scared of Sherlock, which is a good thing.” 

“And who is Sherlock? How do we know we can trust him?” Jim looked cross. 

“All right, I shall talk to my friend Mycroft and check on him as well.” 

“Greg, I am scared baby. When you’re not around I wanna go and live in the flat.” 

“You could do that….though that means it will take you much longer to get this place up and running normally.”

Jim sighed and folded his arms over his chest, “Yeah you are right. Well, what the hell! I am not a woman. I can handle this, I can handle Mr. Creepy and keep doing my work. I’ll stay.” 

“Remember love, Mycroft will be only a phone call away and once I have word on Sherlock, you can call him too. Seems like a nice fellow.” 

***

Mycroft was a very tall man, nearly six feet four inches tall, with a head so round it appeared like a bobble head on his shoulders. He was the very picture of an intelligent sophisticate and in his crisp tailor made suits and prominent widow’s peak, he looked more like a university professor than the chief of Scotland Yard. The moment Greg, who was a couple of years junior to him in college, mentioned Sherlock Holmes the tall man laughed out a little. 

“Do I know him? Of course! He is my younger brother.” 

Greg felt quite assured immediately upon hearing that. “Well, he’s been helping us out a lot since we moved into my late uncle’s property,” he explained with a slightly sheepish look on his face, “My husband is going to be all alone in that huge mansion while I am out on my international flights, sometimes almost for five days and nights, so I wanted to ensure we knew who this person is. I really wish I could trust people more on face value but the world we live in has become increasingly painted with the grey strokes of uncertainty and deceit. Sorry to have asked you this stupid question, I should have known the moment I heard his family name.” 

“Don’t worry,” Mycroft said, “You did the right thing. He could have been another Holmes. By the way, sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding but congratulations. I am truly happy for you. Only six months ago you told me you were seeing nobody and had no plans to marry.”

“Well, what can I say,” Greg’s eyes held a fond look of reminiscence, “When the right person comes along you tend to take decisions that you’d never dream of taking otherwise. I have dated and separated with many men, initially even some women, but none of them had made me feel like they were ‘the one’. But when I met James, it was love at first sight. In one month I had gone down on one knee and in three months we were married. Had a lovely four-week honeymoon at Ibiza, Canary Islands, then Sicily, and now back to work and domestic life.” 

“And looking after a hundred million quid property,” Mycroft guffawed, “Well I heard he’s very attractive and smart. Well done Greg. It’s raining blessings for you!” 

“I think Jim’s lucky for me Myc. Thanks for your time.” 

“Do tell Jim he can call me if there is any problem. Though I don’t think there should be any.” 

“Oh I already took that liberty. See you around.” 

“See you.” 

The moment Greg was out of his cabin Mycroft dialled Sherlock’s number. As he’d expected, Sherlock didn’t answer. He quickly dialled Sherlock’s assistant, Molly, and left a warning message that if Sherlock didn’t call back in five minutes Mycroft would have his hide.

In three and half Sherlock had called back. “Make it quick, I am working.” 

“What is the deal with Greg Lestrade? You do know he is my University pal right? I want the truth right now Sherlock, I know you very well and I am sure you wouldn’t try to help anyone unless you have some interest of your own involved in it. So are you going to tell me or should I make an attempt to dig it out in my own way?” 

“Nothing. Just being a good neighbour. And oh yeah, got Magnussen a job there.” 

“Okay, so that was the catch.” 

“There is no catch there Mycroft. He is my informer and also a man who has recently recovered from addiction. I need him to stay close by and this was a good opportunity. It works well for Lestrade too and may I know why that man came to you checking about all this? I hope you do know that mental illness runs in his family and he has had close family members who’ve tried to violently attack others before turning weapons on themselves!” 

“Greg seemed a sane man to me. He was saying his husband would be alone hence….” 

“It is a husband we are talking about, not a wife,” Sherlock sounded rather put off and defensive, “That’s a full grown and healthy man of thirty or so, same age as mine. I have no idea why Greg needs to be so paranoid about his safety. By the way, did he even tell you I helped him with contacts and recommendations the very first day he arrived at the property and even oversaw the installation of the security system in his house? Thanks to me he even has anti intruder spikes on the gate and walls. I bet he neglected to mention those things when he came over to whine with you.”

“He didn’t whine. He was just having a chat. Don’t read too much into this Sherlock.”

***

“Ohhhhh,” Jim’s body arched off the mattress as Greg made one last thrust inside him and spilled himself. Jim stroked his cock fervently and coaxed out several ribbons of cum, then lay back on the bed panting in bliss. 

“God,” Greg kissed him before he pulled out, “I love you so much.” 

He pulled out some tissues to clean them up while Jim extended a glass of water to his husband while drinking from the other glass. They cuddled together under the same blanket, heads nestled together on the same pillow, noses touching almost as they faced each other. “I am going to miss you so much G,” Jim said softly, caressing Greg’s slight silver sprinkled hairs, “I wish I was on the same flight too, like we used to be before we married. Share the same hotel room, the same bed, nobody would know about this but us.” 

“Honey, I am going to miss you as well. How about we do this? As soon as this house is all done and dusted, why don’t you return to work and take up an assignment at the airport?” 

“Why do we have to work? There is a lot of money.” 

“Yes, only if we sell a painting, or jewellery, or some antique piece, or this property.” 

“Maybe we should.” 

“Maybe we will. But a few years later. But who the hell says we’d work for money? I’d rather we work to keep ourselves busy and be in touch with the outside world, because if we are both retired none of us might ever leave this room and this bed.” 

Jim’s chuckle turned to a gasp and he raised his head, “Greg someone is in the house.” 

“What?” 

“I can hear them. Listen, it’s somebody inside the house and not outside and they seem to be in the ballroom.” 

Greg got up, picking up his licensed revolver and a flash light, “Stay here babe. Let me go and check downstairs.” 

He turned on the lights at the hallways, landing and foyer as he went downstairs, the gun firmly held in his hands and his finger ready on the trigger in case he needed to shoot in self-defence. He heard some fleeting and disjointed sounds and turned to the direction they came from. For a moment, he thought maybe it was Jim’s cat, a grey and white striped feline his husband had picked up a week ago at an alley and kept indoors as a companion, but the footfalls seemed to be too heavy to be that of a small lightweight animal. Jim was right, there was someone definitely inside the house and they were now in the formal dining room instead of the ballroom. 

As he stood before the closed door to the dining room, he heard a different sound. It was that of the wind, a tapping noise and something dripping. 

Intrigued and a little bit scared, he kicked the door open and jumped inside. Turning on the lights and holding the gun aloft, his eyes scanned the entire room but found it empty. There was a steady and strong draft and it was all thanks to the open window on the western side of the room. Whoever had intruded had left through that open window and the tapping noise was nothing but the heavy curtain flapping against one of the windowpanes in a steady rhythm. 

Then his eyes fell on the dining table and he saw what was causing the dripping sound. His eyes widened and he stepped back a little, horrified at the sight before him. As he backed off, his foot hit something and he saw it was the knife that had been used. 

He put his hand over his mouth and swallowed the bile down, his ears echoing with the sounds of blood dripping into an empty candy bowl. //Jim must not see this//

“G, where are you G,” Jim came in right that that moment, “Hey is everything all right? Who left that window open? I had closed it after dinner.” He noticed the pale, nearly white face of his husband and walked right up to him, “You look like you have just seen a ghost G.”

“Jim it’s nothing babe, let’s go back to the room…..” 

“OHMYGOD!” 

Too late! Jim was now shaking all over as he stared at his beloved feline, now dead. 

“Jim, honey….” 

“G-Greg they killed Posh Spice! They-They killed my Posh. His stomach is ripped open. Oh-Oh-Oh……Who would do something so cruel to a poor little cat?” 

***

“Hon, I don’t feel like leaving you behind all alone,” Greg said as he caressed the side of Jim’s face. 

“I will be fine,” Jim said bravely, “I had her for only a week after all. I am probably overreacting. You need to go to work, I will be fine, don’t worry.” 

Sherlock stood there, still and stiff as a statue, watching and hearing the exchange with disdain filled apathy. He made a great effort at not rolling his eyes as Greg kissed Jim and ushered him back inside the house before giving him his attention. They walked down the path that led to the walkway bridge over the koi fish pond. It had been cleaned and lotus leaves and water lilies floated on the surface of the now clear water and birds stopped by ay the nearby bird bath for a drink of water. “Magnussen is doing a good job here,” he observed, “It’s only been three weeks since he arrived and already the garden seems to look neat, luxuriant.” 

“Yeah, the green house and the tennis court are the next things to be taken care of,” Greg said absentmindedly. 

“Why did you call me Greg?” 

“Um, it’s about Magnussen.” 

“Yes, what about him?” 

“Listen, two nights ago Jim’s cat was killed brutally inside the house and someone escaped from the window after committing this misdeed. Since we have anti intruder measures taken and the security system and burglar alarms are all state of art and dependable, it has to be someone who knew the code and was already inside the property. That could be just one person we’re talking about here, Charles Augustus Magnussen.” 

Sherlock didn’t seem convinced, “But he’s got a clean bill for years now. He knows I have my eyes on him. He owes me a lot and will never do something that makes me lose face. It can’t be him Greg.” 

“Jim is convinced it’s him.” 

“I am convinced it’s not him. I have known him for seven years now, ever since I finished at Oxford and joined the police.” 

“I have known Jim too….” 

“Only for a few months.” 

Greg looked vexed, “What are you saying Sherlock? Are you trying to tell me my husband is lying? That he has something against this creepy, weird man that stalks him whenever he walks out of the house and takes a stroll in the garden? He is supposed to help us Sherlock, not to scare my husband and be an interloper at night inside my mansion, killing our pets and escaping through windows.” 

“All I am saying is that he isn’t someone who’s ever behaved like this,” Sherlock explained, “He has worked with other clients and people I have known and never have I had a complain from any of them. Yes he is a bit of an odd fellow and not talkative but that doesn’t automatically make him a criminal. However, if it makes you feel any better, I shall tell him to live somewhere else at night and work only during the day.” 

As he walked out of the property Sherlock called big brother. As soon as Mycroft answered, he rattled off his grievances. “There is no point in helping anybody nowadays Myc. Your dear friend Gregory Steven Lestrade, instead of thanking me for helping him with a gardener at half the rate that is normally charged, now tells me that apparently Magnussen entered his house and killed his husband’s pet cat. Just tell me, what sort of happiness or profit might he come to by gutting a bloody feline. I am very tempted to cuff him behind the ears for being so delusional.” 

“Remove that fellow from there then.” 

“I will do that. There’s only a couple of weeks work left there, he’s already been paid for that. Let him finish it.” 

“If Greg calls me I will tell him this Magnussen won’t be around after two weeks.” 

“If he calls you.” 

“Most likely he will not. He hasn’t contacted him since that day when he was flying out to New York City.” 

“Good, thank Heavens for that! I tell you, he has inherited his family’s madness. His uncle used to constantly think there was an intruder in his premises. I thought that was because he was very old and ailing. I had no idea thirty-five-year-old men had the same delusions.”

***

“What the hell,” Jim startled when a shadow fell across the doorway to the attic where he was cleaning out some trunks, “How did you come up here.” 

“Front door was open,” Magnussen said in a harsh tone, his maroon eyes fixed on Jim. 

Jim was used to attention from people. He was a small but well-built man, proportionate and fit with a gym toned body and a face that was boyish handsome with two jewel like dark doe-brown eyes which sparkled with any emotion he felt. His face was expressive and exquisite and his overall presence commanded a second look from eight out of ten people that passed by. But this man, this sinister and unnerving man, didn’t look at him with either curiosity or admiration. His eyes were shark-like and borderline accusatory. 

“I don’t remember the door being open but even if it was, that doesn’t give you the right to just walk inside and come up all the way here. I thought we made it amply clear to you that we don’t want you inside the house.” 

“I needed some drinking water.” 

Jim looked flustered and literally felt like tearing out his hairs. The man was clearly lying, just as he had lied about the cat’s death. The moment he looked at this man, he saw his poor dead cat Posh Spice lying on the edge of the dining table, gutted and blood dripping on the candy bowl that had been strategically placed under the table. While he felt a bit scared, he was determined not to let the man know that. Gripping a heavy statue in his right hand, he walked past the man and raced downstairs to the kitchen where he grabbed two bottles of water and slid them over the counter towards the unwanted guest. “Here you go, now leave and don’t come inside again,” he huffed. 

“Two things you should never be,” Magnussen said, not touching the water bottles, “Being rude to someone without a reason or cheating on someone who loves you with all their heart.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you. What part of ‘leave, don’t come inside again’ don’t you get?”

“I understand that,” Magnussen’s jaw hardened and his eyes looked mad, unfocussed, “Just as I understand a lot of other things going on here.” 

“GET OUT NOW.” 

Which thankfully the man did. 

But since that day, right down to the day Greg returned from his flight to Peru, Jim found himself stalked regularly by the gardener. Though the man didn’t stay overnight on the property anymore, he lurked around the kitchen windows during the day when Jim made breakfast or lunch and around the den’s windows in the afternoon when Jim sat there working on his laptop or watching television. When Jim came out of the mansion he saw the man spying on him from behind a tree. One day he tried to get into the pool and nearly drowned when he spotted Magnussen next to the recliner chairs, apparently trying to fix the umbrella above it. 

Jim called at the police station where Sherlock was in charge but the cop refused to see him when he arrived, saying he was in an important meeting and his deputy would look into it. That deputy was a slimy character named Phil Andersen. 

Andersen didn’t seem to like Jim, or his boss Sherlock, or anything in this world. His attitude was one of indifference and his lack of empathy was infuriating. 

“I am saying I am under threat from that man and you would do nothing?” Jim demanded. 

“Have you employed that man?”

“Yes, my husband and I did but…..”

“Listen here Mr. Moriarty Lestrade, or whatever your name is,” Phil kept talking while he played on his mobile phone, a crooked smile playing at the corner of his lips, “If you employ someone and feel uncomfortable about it then dismiss them. Fire them. They won’t come back and bother you again. From what I heard just now, he just freaks you out because he’s ugly. Now I agree he’s a fugly man, but that is no crime. What crime am I going to arrest him for? For intimidating another man? Come on, you’re an educated gent, just throw him out of his job and if he threatens you properly come back and tell me, I’ll do something.”

***

“GREG!!!” 

Greg hugged his man tight, happy to see that his Jim had come to collect him from the airport. “Hey baby, it’s good to be back. You missed me?” 

“Lots,” Jim said, kissing his husband on the lips and drawing back a bit too quickly, “I am so glad you are back.” He held on tightly to Greg’s hand, looking rather distracted and disturbed and the older man caught on immediately. Jim had put on a big wide fake smile and kept making small talk while they walked to the car. He even cracked a joke while he helped him with his bags and took to the wheel. But all through his body language screamed ‘trouble’ and Greg was not immune to that.

“All right, I want the truth babe. All well at home?” 

“I dunno. That fellow came into the house and said weird stuff to me. He keeps lurking around the house all the time and trying to spy on me. I feel like a bloody prisoner in my own house all the time.” 

“Did you call Sherlock? Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I couldn’t call you, you were on a flight. I did try to meet Sherlock though but he was busy and couldn’t see me at short notice. Tried to talk to someone else but his deputy just bumped me off and…..well, long story short, they think Magnussen has done nothing wrong and unless he threatens me for real, they can’t touch a hair on his head. Told me to try firing him first.”

“Right,” Greg said in a stone-cold voice, “Let’s fix this. Enough is enough.” 

“How?” 

“As the deputy said, let’s fire him first.” 

“No Greg, what if he gets violent?” 

“We won’t fire him. Sherlock will.” 

***

“Very well Greg, I will ask Charles not to report to work from tomorrow,” Sherlock sounded pissed and he didn’t make any attempts at hiding that, “But Andersen was not wrong when he said we have no grounds to take any action against him. I still don’t get it, if he came into the house asking for water or was working somewhere close by when your husband was in the garden, how does it even construe stalking or intimidating? A helping hand at home has the right to ask for drinking water and there are no restraining orders against him which would force him to stay twenty feet away from your James.” 

“In that case I shall try to get restraining orders,” Greg said angrily, “Just keep him away from us Sherlock. I have seen this man, he is a total crackpot.” 

As soon as he had disconnected, Jim grabbed his arm and gave him a pleading glance. “I heard it all. He sounded just as dismissive as that oaf Andersen. I knew it, I knew it then that this oaf wouldn’t dare be so rude unless his boss was also on his side. The bastard’s a serial killer, a mentally ill man, he could gut one of us the way he killed Posh. Maybe that was his way to show us….a sort of a preview to what he might do next. Let’s get away from here please, back to that flat, I was so much happier there.” 

“We shall do that,” Greg assured him, “But it will take a few days. We sold or moved everything from that flat when we came here so it has to be a proper shifting again. I’ll hire a company to help us do the moving. As for this property, let’s sell this place. It’s bad luck.”

“This weekend?” Jim asked hopefully. 

“Yes love, this weekend,” Greg answered, “I’ll take Monday off to help you out.” 

“I am sorry G,” Jim bit down on his lower lip. 

“Hey, for what my love?” 

“I thought we were going to stay here and then….” 

“None of this is your fault. If anything, I blame myself for this mess. I shouldn’t have employed that freak.” 

***

“Mr. Lestrade sir….” 

Greg stopped in his tracks as he was about to get into his car. “YOU?” 

Charles Augustus Magnussen stood a few feet away from him, rocking on his heels. They were in the empty parking space outside a Waitrose outlet and it was nearly ten in the night. It was quite late and the store was about to be closed to customers when Greg had barely managed to duck inside and pick up a few things needed at home. By now the store staff had rolled the shutters down midway and not a soul was to be seen on that street. The last person he needed to encounter under in these circumstances was this crazy wacko gardener whom he had fired a couple of days ago. 

“What do you want? Your wages have been paid.” Greg tried his best not to let the other man scent his nervousness. 

“I am not here for my wages you incredibly stupid man,” Magnussen said curtly, a bit too curtly even for a sharp-tongued man like him, “I thought you had at least a smidge of sense left in you but you clearly don’t. Whatever was there has been drained out by that pretty boy you married, that thing that controls you, isn’t it? Why would you let your life get ruined for a slice of tight arse? There is something I need to tell you and you better listen to me,” he hissed in a very dangerous manner, “If you don’t have any idea what is going on behind your back…..” 

“Stop right there,” Greg got into his car, “Enough of your nonsense. By Monday you will have restraining orders issued. Don’t you dare try to contact me or my husband again.” 

Magnussen slammed his fists on the window and yelled and cursed while Greg drove away with his heart in his mouth. 

The next day Jim and he called Sherlock, putting the phone on speaker so they could talk to him together. After a few rings the call was answered but the cop’s tone gave them no hope or relief. “Holmes,” Sherlock barked, sounding plenty annoyed even before they had said a basic ‘hello’, as if he was considering the call a drudgery. “We aren’t getting any help from him G, he’s not going to believe us,” Jim said in a disappointed voice. 

“Sherlock, this is Greg and Jim is with me. Magnussen tried to threaten me last night….” 

“I have personally packed him off to Manchester and put him under the care of one of my fellow officers. He will work and live there now. You must have seen someone and thought that’s Charles.” 

“It was him. We spoke. He threatened me God damn it.” 

“Listen, get that restraining order and keep your licensed gun on you at all times. I’ll talk to my colleague and find out what’s going on with Charles at Manchester. No need to worry, that fellow is not harmful. The worst he has ever done is a small bar brawl and picking a packet of smoke out of someone’s pocket while he was traveling on a tube. I have to go now, another call coming in.” 

“He disconnected,” Greg huffed, “The jerk.” 

“How about you speak to Mycroft?” Jim insisted. 

“I think I will,” Greg replied, “If this happens one more time I sure will.” 

***

Jim was happy that he had had a productive day. Greg and he had woken up late, made slow and sweet love, then they had finished cleaning up the art room together and also packed several boxes for their move back to their flat in East London. He was a bit underwhelmed by the way they were moving out of this fabulous mansion but their stay here had been fraught with so many tensions and so much mishaps that he was okay to get back to the three-bedroom flat. If that gave them peace of mind then so be it, this property would have to be dealt with later. As he sat in a guest bedroom, sorting out some of the papers and files, he saw a text from Greg on his phone. 

“Picking up wine on my way back from the flat. Already fixed the curtains and checked the heating. See you soon hon – G.” 

Jim had barely begun to type a response when he heard a hooting sound and then flashing lights outside the window. Security breach. Someone had entered the house overriding the code or had used the wrong code. His feet turned to lead and his heart thumped loudly in his chest. Jim’s strengths had always been his brainy, witty side and not his physical strength. Faced with someone like a Magnussen, he knew he wouldn’t be well placed. However, if he could stay hidden or run for it, he would be much faster than the older man. 

He quickly exited the room and was about to make a dash for the fire escape stairs when a tall figure appeared at the other end of the hallway. 

James stopped in his tracks, backing up slightly. 

“You think I don’t know who you are,” Magnussen’s voice floated to his ears, “I gather information for the cops, for private businessmen, for women whose husbands are cheating on them, for whores looking out for lonely bachelors. I know exactly what’s going on here.” 

James tried to breathe deeply and calm himself but failed. The dreaded figure approached him slowly, getting closer and closer. “I know what you are, you little vermin,” the ominous voice came, “Pretty face, sexy ass, those cute smooth hands of a boy, the perfect fuck toy.” 

“Stay there or else….” James found his voice but even to his own ears he sounded pathetic. 

“Or else what?” 

“My husband will be back any moment.” 

“Good, let him see what you really are. A good for nothing pretty slut who married up, in order to ease the problems in his life.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about you sick wacko. I’ll call Inspector Holmes.” 

“Oh yes anytime. Call him. He will be delighted to be here. He has special interest on this house and its inhabitants. But I daresay my pretty little bird, even he can’t do much for you at this point in time.” 

Jim did the only thing that he could do under these circumstances. The man standing before him was stronger, sounded like a psycho and overpowering him physically was a stupid move to make. His only hope was to get into a room and stay put long enough to call for help. His mind made up, he dashed into the nearest room and shut the door, bolting it. Within seconds the footsteps thundered up to the door, he heard loud cursing and the man on the other side started to pound the door down. Jim backed off, looking around wildly to see if he could escape but no, the window was too high up for him to jump out. To make matters worse this was not even a bedroom, it was a mostly bare spare room and had no bathroom where he could hide himself and buy some more minutes. 

The door swung open, creaking on its hinges and Magnussen burst inside. Jim tried to hit him and run out but the taller, stronger man grabbed him in his arms and started to overpower him. Panic stricken by now, he grabbed a lampshade and hit Magnussen hard on the face, making him yelp and loosen his hold. Wriggling free he dashed out, the psycho close on his heels. As they reached the stairwell, he felt a hand grab his shirt and push him and he tumbled down the first set of steps, hitting the small landing before the next set of steps started. 

He heard a car outside, then another car, and the front door burst open. 

***

Greg dropped the bottle of wine from his hands and rushed up the stairs where he saw his husband lying unconscious. “Babe,” he shook a limp James, “Jim, baby wake up.” 

Jim didn’t respond. Greg looked up at Magnussen, murder in his eyes. Pulling out his gun he aimed it at the man with a cry of ‘You will pay for this’. 

Magnussen lunged at him with a hissed ‘You idiot, when will you ever learn’ and soon the two men were grappling for the possession of the gun. Greg was stockier, taller and stronger than Magnussen and Jim had done him a favour by injuring the man a bit. He was bleeding and not as powerful as he would have been without that injury so Greg was able to put up a good fight. Soon he was on top of the other man and had wrenched the weapon out of his hands. At the same moment Sherlock entered through the front door that had been left open and looked up at the scene playing out before him. 

Greg let Magnussen go and stood up, seeing that the police was here and Sherlock would take over from him, when the cop did something totally unthinkable. He climbed a few steps, took out his gun and tossed it at Magnussen. 

An enraged, nearly mad Magnussen aimed at Greg who looked on in complete shock. 

“Shoot him,” Sherlock thundered in his deep voice, leaning against the balustrade and smirking slightly. 

Both men interpreted that as an order and shot each other at the same time. In a flash the two bodies lurched backwards and fell, Magnussen landing next to Jim and Greg’s body tumbling down the stairwell and coming to a rest at the bottom of it. 

***

Deep, dark, sparkling eyes bore into almond shaped blue-green ones as they two men moved in perfect rhythm on the bed. Arms and legs wrapped around each other, hands blindly and lustfully groping one another, mouths meeting in harsh and biting kisses, the smell of sex and the salt of sweat rising and rising in the air, the passion between them nearly set the sheets on fire. The smaller man moaned and wailed with each thrust and the taller man groaned and howled as he received them, the bed shaking noisily under the combined weight and movements. 

“Oh yes, you are getting so tight sweetheart!” 

“And you’re so ready to explode, cum for me, fill me up.” The man on top instantly sped up, hips snapping back and forth at a harsh pace, while a large hand with long fingers wrapped around a throbbing, leaking erection, coaxing more and more clear sleek out of the slit. Cries reached a crescendo and the movements grew more and more frenzied, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh coming on to a near encore. Mouths met again, sloppy and desperate kisses broken only to let out growls of ‘You are mine’ and ‘I am all yours’ and ‘Oh God this is going to be huge’. 

Suddenly the man on top came and screamed “SHERLYYYY……Oh God I love you.” 

The bottom came next, shooting all over himself as he groaned out “I love you Jimmy, oh yeah, I got you my love, missed you.” 

Their movements slowed down and finally stilled and Sherlock Holmes cradled James Moriarty in his arms and kissed the top of his head, a look of utter bliss and joy on his normally wan and staid face. He winced slightly as the softening cock of his lover slid out of him and Jim, now completely, boneless, fell down on him and stayed there. “I love you,” Sherlock repeated softly. 

“God, I missed topping so much,” Jim panted. 

“This is reunion sex Jim-Jim. That’s why I wanted you to have it your way. It was so bloody difficult for me to even think about you and him together.” 

“I had sex with him with my eyes closed mostly, thinking it was you.” 

“Not letting you go again, never ever. I missed you too fucking much.” 

“Me too. Never make me do this again Sherly, promise me you won’t.” 

“I promise. You’re mine. But thanks babe, thanks for doing this for the both of us.” 

***

Sherlock entered the swimming pool and waded into the water, swimming a few strokes before he relaxed and floated on his back in the pool. From the corner of his eyes he caught some movement and turned his head, a huge smile spreading over his Cupid’s bow lips when he saw Jim walk out and flop down on a recliner. “Why are you wearing board shorts,” he demanded as he swam to the edge and peered out, elbows placed on the tiles, “Why not wear one of your speedos or one of you tiny swim trunks where your buns hang out when you walk or swim?”

Jim made a face, “I am trying to plan our future. Stop being horny and distracting me.” 

Sherlock hauled himself out of the pool and stretched out his arms on both sides, “So much acreage, a huge mansion, in the heart of a modern city where people work a lifetime to buy a one room accommodation. Seems like we hit the jackpot Jimmy, hundred million quid for us and no worries for a lifetime. You are right now looking at a soon to be retired cop who wants to be a part time beekeeper, part time author of chemistry books and full time lover of a certain Irishman he met five years ago while on a rare holiday to Dublin.” 

Jim allowed Sherlock to lift him up and put him on his lap as the Englishman stretched out on the recliner like a luxuriant and lazy cat. “Thanks to you and your intel that Greg Lestrade was about to inherit this place and he was still single and looking for the idea mate.” 

“You managed to thaw him, he was ice cold before he met you but a total devoted dog afterwards. He married you in a month’s time, that was something I say!” 

“And you had to get rid of that psycho who knew something was off.” 

“Magnussen was useful, till he gathered too much info for his own good and became a threat to me. I fed his anxiety and anger well, gave him some meds he shouldn’t be taking in that state and also provided the security code of the house so he could enter as he wished.” 

“What about Mycroft? Does he believe the theory that Greg went insane and shot his former retainer who fired at him in self -defence with a gun he stole from you?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he? Thanks to the way you met Andersen and a few calls I took in front of him from Greg, he was convinced that Magnussen wasn’t a problem, Greg was. And there is a history of mental illness in his family. Poor guy had none, but it was easy to paint him with the same brush.” 

“So we are safe?” Jim asked, putting his arms around Sherlock’s neck. 

Sherlock kissed his lover on the lips, “Totally.” 

“What now?” 

“A month is over and you have already legally inherited everything from Greg, no foul play has been suspected in the two deaths that happened here and the case is closed formally. That’s why I have begun to see you regularly now and stay overnight with you. But let’s wait two or three more months before I resign from work and we make an exploratory trip to Mauritius. I always wanted to see that place and you always wanted to stay by the sea. I think we can buy a villa and start a new life there. In a year’s time, once you’re no longer in mourning, I plan to buy a pair of matching wedding bands.” 

“Guess what,” Jim said, “This time we don’t even need to look at the price tags.” 

“Why should we?” Sherlock said, “We have hundred million quid.” 

“Hundred million quid,” Jim nodded in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all - Sorry Greg Lestrade fans :)
> 
> Second point - Jim here is a bad guy too, but mostly operates in Sherlock's shadow. With Lestrade he acts effeminate/helpless/wife life for a reason because Sherlock wanted Lestrade to get all protective about his vulnerable hubby an take some drastic actions against Magnussen


End file.
